


Raise Your Glass

by appleschnapple



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleschnapple/pseuds/appleschnapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke gets invited to a lot of parties. A lot of boring parties. To maintain a good reputation, he has to attend a good deal of these events, and the biggest problem for Hawke is that he usually can't bring any of his friends to them (they're not "refined" enough, or so the gossip around Hightown claims). Cue Anders, his lover-boy, sneaking into the party to make things more... fun. - Kink meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise Your Glass

Hawke loved his mother. This seemed a slightly unnecessary statement – it was generally the case that _most people_ loved their mothers, and those that didn't tended to have some very good reasons not to – but Hawke wanted it noted, on whatever record there may be, that he really, _really_ adored his, and that there was nothing he wouldn't do for that woman.

Which was why he was dressed in more finery than he knew what to do with, clutching a cup of wine tightly in one hand and nodding politely as Hightown's nobles talked at him. (Not _to_ , at. It was an important distinction – this may have felt less like an exquisite form of torture if he was actually holding a conversation rather than being a convenient ear.)

At the moment, he was acting as such to a young noblewoman bedecked in ruffles and jewels, quietly murmuring in agreement at what appeared to be the appropriate times. He could be out getting drunk right now – or better yet, enjoying some precious time alone with Anders, the sort that involved beds and did not involve clothes. (It could also involve any number of other things, based on Isabela's suggestions, but Hawke felt he was not yet brave enough to try those.)

(Well. Maybe the one with the feather.)

Unfortunately, the invitation he'd received (embellished with gold leaf and a really quite ostentatious looking family crest) had very pointedly not included an 'and guest', despite Mother's almost identical invitation having the words printed alongside her name. Hawke could never really get into the mindset of your average noble – something he was eternally grateful for, to be quite honest – but he could certainly recognise a snub when he saw it. He was well aware of the talk surrounding him, and some of the rumours had reached truly creative heights that even Varric would have been impressed with. (Last he heard, he was apparently simultaneously courting two elves, a pirate and the Guard-Captain herself, as well as consorting with the villainous scum found in – and here, a well-practised shudder for dramatic effect - _Lowtown_. Garrett wasn't actually sure what would happen if he mentioned that he occasionally traipsed down to Darktown, too, though he suspected their heads might explode.)

All in all, the people of Hightown made no secret of their dislike, and the only reason he had been invited tonight was because _not_ inviting a man of his wealth and _noble heritage_ just simply wasn't done. And it made him despair, it really did, because everyone would have been so much happier all around if they hadn't. Of course, he could have just not attended, but then Mother would have looked disappointed and that was on par to being punched repeatedly in the gut and then being told you were a bad person afterwards.

On the other hand, he hadn't felt much better telling Anders he'd be on his own that night, and had felt that much _worse_ when Anders had just smiled wryly at him, said that he was used to it and not to worry – so perhaps it was like choosing between kicking a puppy and kicking a kitten, only he was related to the puppy and _oh dear_ , that comparison had quite gotten away from him.

“Serah Hawke?”

He started, and turned his attention back towards the noblewoman. She was about his age, pretty in a stern sort of way, and Hawke hoped he hadn't been agreeing to marry her for the good of both their families or something. Mother had considerately dropped all mentions of marriage after he'd awkwardly explained to her that Anders was moving in, _yes_ , he does look skinny and needs taking care of, _no_ she didn't need to get Bodahn to prepare one of the spare rooms, it was quite all right.

“I'm sorry,” he said, as politely as he could manage as grey eyes stared _straight into his soul_ , “could you repeat that?”

“I asked what you thought about the qunari.” She sniffed. “Dreadful things.”

“Oh,” Hawke desperately tried to think of a way to answer without in some way causing an _incident_ , “they're a little... unsettling, but the Arishok seems... reasonable.” For a given standard of reasonable, at least, though Hawke still had nightmares of those damn Saarebas and of Anders, Merrill, _Bethany_ chained and collared in the same way.

“You've _met_ them?” Was he imagining it, or had that actually peaked her interest? “I thought no-one was allowed in.”

“There were... special circumstances.”

“Oh.” And bizarrely, she bit her lip. “They're so big and, and bestial. And is it true there are no women there?”

Maker's breath, Hawke couldn't tell if she hated the things or wanted to get to know them intimately, and he suspected that she couldn't either. Either way, this conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn and Hawke found himself looking desperately for an escape.

Fortunately, one presented itself almost immediately, even if he was partially convinced that he was hallucinating it. “ _Anders_?”

Anders turned his head slightly to face him, grinned, then nodded towards the man he'd been speaking to before walking over. Almost unconsciously, Hawke found himself staring in a mixture of surprise and (Maker help him) arousal. Anders was dressed just as finely as any nobleman here, and somehow managed to not look like a pompous git while doing so; the clothes flatteringly tight across his lean figure and with just enough detail to be complementary rather than distracting – though Hawke found himself _distracted_ nevertheless.

“Ah, Hawke,” he said warmly, before turning his gaze towards the woman beside him. “My lady, I don't believe we've met.” His voice was unusually rich and confident, and Hawke became of the room become just that little bit warmer. The woman in question tittered slightly, a faint pink glow gathering across her cheeks.

“Lady Emmeline,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and giving him a coquettish smile. “And you, serah?”

Anders next words seemed like an incomprehensible string of consonants, but Lady Emmeline appeared to take this in her stride.

“Oh, from the Anderfels. You don't have much of an accent, if you don't mind me saying so.” And Andraste's tits, she was _fluttering_ her eyelashes at Anders now, and Hawke forced himself to look down in order to avoid glaring at the woman. _Mine_ , he wanted to say. Hands off. Go find yourself a qunari or something. In fact, get yourself a dozen qunari, and leave me to take Anders in a gentlemanly fashion.

“My family moved from there when I was very young.” Anders, apparently noticing Hawke's current displeasure, brushed his hand lightly over Hawke's. “I'm sorry – could you excuse us? Serah Hawke and I have important business to discuss.”

“Of course,” said Emmeline, still _clearly_ undressing Anders with her eyes, and only _Hawke_ was allowed to do that, eyes or not.

They walked over to a thankfully empty-looking corner of the room; most of the guests congregating around the drinks. “How did you--” Hawke began, but Anders cut him off with a smile.

“Leandra.”

“Mother?”

“Unless there are _other_ Leandras out there who'd be willing to invite me as a guest...” Anders said lightly, and Hawke rolled his eyes. It had been a bit of a stupid question, but he felt he was well within his rights to be a little bit stupid every once in a while. “Well, I say invited. It's maybe closer to the truth to say that she ordered me to come, and then dragged me off to see her tailor.”

“That does sound a lot like Mother, I have to admit.” Hawke wrinkled his nose. “But how are you acting so...” he gestured around at the various nobles, “like them?”

“I did _say_ I was charming,” Anders replied, a little reproachfully. “And anyway, I used to be friends with nobility.”

“Did you now.” Hawke wasn't sure what was stranger – the fact that Anders was better at acting like a noble than him, despite generations of blue blood running through his veins, or that it was something of a turn-on.

“The Arl of Amaranthine,” Anders said proudly, “and the son of the former Arl of Amaranthine. That was a little messy, at first.” He let out a content sigh, and took a sip of wine. Hawke must definitely did not watch the small drop of wine running down the side of his mouth, coming to a slow crawl down the length of his neck and hanging there, practically begging to be licked away... “But I'm forgetting why I came.”

“...What?” Hawke wasn't sure what it said about his state of mind that he only heard the last two words of that sentence.

“I was supposed to keep you entertained.”

Oh. Hawke swallowed, because his mind had gone to some wonderful yet highly inappropriate places and refused to leave. “And what did you have in mind?” Maker, his mouth was dry.

Anders just raised his eyebrows. “These places tend to have a lot of empty rooms, don't they?”

If there had _ever_ been any doubt, Hawke knew in that moment that he loved Anders.

\- - - 

“So, this,” Hawke panted as Anders ran his hands underneath Hawke's shirt, caressing his skin, “is what my _mother_ wanted you here for?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Then wha--” Anders cut him off with a kiss, and Hawke moaned as it deepened, Anders' lips claiming his own, letting out what was most definitely not a whine as Anders drew back again.

“She wanted to make sure you enjoyed yourself, and kept out of trouble.”

“What?” Hawke wasn't the best at _keeping out of trouble_ , he knew (and was frequently reminded, just in case), but he wasn't sure what sort of trouble his mother expected his to get up to here. Besides this, of course. “I wouldn't _upset_ anyone.”

“Not on purpose,” Anders reassured him soothingly, “but you'd try to please everyone, and then get drawn into some ridiculous argument and manage to offend people by trying to reach a compromise between them.”

Hawke couldn't think of a response to that, so instead decided to point out the obvious problem here. “Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but how is _this_ keeping out of trouble?”

Anders was correct in that there had been numerous empty rooms – which did not explain why he'd eventually chosen the one _closest_ to the rest of the guests. Anders just smirked, and Hawke's breath hitched as a hand slid down the front of his trousers. “You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?”

That much was definitely true, Hawke thought, head swimming, but still had enough frame of mind to force out, “But what if they hear us?”

“Consider it a challenge.”

“But--” Whatever Hawke was about to say was cut short by an _incredibly_ familiar voice from the other room as the general ambience from there suddenly fell silent.

“Varric Tethras, of the Merchants Guild – and this is my plus one, Lady Daisy.”

“Charmed,” came Merrill's voice, in what she obviously thought was a dignified tone of voice.

“And I believe the lovely lady behind us is Seneschal Bran's guest. Is that right, Isabela?”

“Captain Isabela, thank you very much.”

Hawke and Anders shared a disbelieving look.

“We should go--” Hawke began, but Anders shook his head. “But they--”

“They'll still be there when we've finished,” Anders said firmly, before nipping at Hawke's ear. “And if they're not, then problem solved.”

Hawke considered protesting further, but then Anders' fingers twitched as he did _the electricity thing_ and suddenly Hawke didn't care much about anything else at all.

\- - - 

“Hawke!” Varric said brightly when they finally emerged, Hawke aware that he looked thoroughly... bedraggled, and even more aware that Anders looked as fresh as he had at the start of the evening. “And Blondie, too.”

“Hawke, are you all right?” Merrill asked, nothing but honest concern in her voice, though Hawke was probably more distracted by the dress she was wearing. If the other women present were festooned in ruffles, then Merrill was... well, there was probably more ruffle there than there was _Merrill_. “You look a bit... sweaty.”

If the Maker cared for His creation, He would have killed Hawke where he stood. As it was, Hawke remained entirely unsmited, and Hawke wondered if he ought to bring this up with Sebastian next time they spoke. “I'm fine, Merrill,” he said, wishing his voice didn't sound so hoarse. This might have been enough, if Isabela weren't standing there, looking like a cat that had caught any number of canaries.

“Oh, I think he's more than fine,” she purred. “What about Anders? Is he _fine_ too?”

“He looks it, doesn't he?” said Merrill, inspecting Anders with a critical eye.

“Not that I don't appreciate your company,” Hawke said, ignoring this, “but what are you three doing here?”

“Didn't you hear? I'm the representative of the Merchants Guild, and Daisy here kindly accompanied me.”

“How are _you_ the representative? I thought you never went to the meetings.”

“Well, funny thing that. Turns out, most dwarves don't really like the idea of spending a party mingling with a bunch of humans.”

“And you do?” Hawke asked.

“Hawke,” Varric said, grinning widely, “I got the opportunity to take _Daisy_ to a party full of Kirkwall's nobility. How could I possibly resist?”

That made sense, at least. “And you, Isabela? I thought you didn't care much for Hightown.”

“Free drinks.” Her eyes wandered around the room, clearly focusing on glimpses of décolletage and tightly fitted pants on display. “The scenery's nice, too.”

“And Seneschal Bran was completely fine with you being his guest?”

“Oh, Hawke,” Isabela said affectionately, “you wouldn't believe the things I could get that man to do for me.”

“I don't want to know,” said Hawke quickly. He liked Isabela a lot, but her stories tended to be best suited for when he'd had a few drinks, and almost instinctively his eyes darted over to the wine.

“Spoilsport,” Isabela retorted. “And don't think you're fooling anyone, either. Anyone with a pair of working eyes who isn't Merrill could see what you've been up to.”

“Then tell me!” Merrill practically begged, and Isabela laughed before taking her by the arm and leading her to one side. Judging by the wide-eyed looks Merrill kept sending their way, she was not sparing any details – and judging by the looks of mixed repulsion and amazement from the people surrounding her, she wasn't being quiet about it either.

“I think,” Anders said quietly, “they're going to stop putting 'and guest' on the invitations in the future.”

Hawke nodded, snatching a cup of wine from the nearest table and downing most of it in one.

“To us,” Varric said, raising his own cup into the air, “for ruining the neighbourhood!”


End file.
